


1832, Paris

by icarus_chained



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Crossover, Cynicism, Gen, Hope, Mercy - Freeform, Suicide, Temptation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-10
Updated: 2013-07-10
Packaged: 2017-12-18 09:43:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/878407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icarus_chained/pseuds/icarus_chained
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1832, Paris. Aziraphale and Crowley, standing on a bridge over the Seine, having done and witnessed a very dark thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1832, Paris

**Author's Note:**

> Another old fic (2010). In GO, it says that Crowley slept through most of the 19th century, except for 1832 when he got up to use the bathroom. 1832, of course, was the year of the June Rebellion. Hence, this fic.

In the darkness over the Seine, upon the bridge, two figures stood in silence, and looked down across the waters. Softly, with eyes that had seen endless miracles and matchless tragedies, they watched the wavelets close over one man's head, and in the quiet, they seemed to slump.

"I wish you hadn't done that, my dear," said the softer of the figures, sadly. "For a moment, there ..."

"For a moment there, the mossst stone-hearted angel in heaven could have felt hisss agony," his companion responded, a soft and sibilant sound. "Moment of weakness, angel. My job, isssn't it?" But he sounded more sad than triumphant, and the other figure leaned a little towards him.

"He could have made it, though," he opinioned quietly. "If he could have reconciled duty and mercy ..."

"Hah!" the second answered, an explosive derision. "And that worked so well for Above, did it? How long before they forgave you for the sword? Three thousand years? Four?" He shook his head, curled down into his coat. "He was better off before, angel. He was ... pure, before. Now ... he'd only have torn himself apart, wondering. 'sbetter, this way. It's ... kinder."

"But it's not _right_ ," the angel answered him, watching the dark eddies beneath them, touching one soft hand to the hat left on the parapet. "Suicide ..."

"When was kindness ever _right_ ," the darker figure asked bitterly. Sadly. "When was justice ever gentle?" He laughed blackly, and nodded to the river. "He wasn't, was he? The most righteous man in Paris, and the first time he tries to be kind ... well. Here we are, aren't we? And he's in the bloody river. Tell you a lot about the world, does it?"

The angel flinched a little. Reached out, tentatively, to touch his companion's shoulder. The darker man shook him off. Turned away, walked a little way away, hunched inside himself.

"Sometimes, one can be both," the angel whispered softly, watching him. "Sometimes one _can_ , dear one. He almost was. The most rigid man in Paris, the most righteous, and for one moment ... he was kind." He frowned, glancing almost involuntarily back to the river, and grimaced a little. "It didn't ... he couldn't bear it, true, but ..."

He paused, watching the stiff line of his companion's back, the tired curve of his neck. The way, despite it, the dark man's head was tilted as if to listen.

"Perhaps, one day," the angel said, very quietly, "Perhaps one day, Heaven might be choose to be kind too. Perhaps one day, They might be gentle. Ineffable, after all. Perhaps ... that might be within the Plan, my dear ...?"

The darker man said nothing, for a long, long moment. In the darkness above the Seine, where the waters carried a righteous man to his unquiet rest, an angel's companion was quiet. And then ... he laughed. Soft, still bitter, but light. 

"I wouldn't hold my breath, angel," he said softly, but the smile was clear in it. "I won't hold mine." He turned, wandered close to the parapet once more. Grimaced, just faintly, as he turned back to his companion. "In fact, I think I'm going back to sleep. This century is looking to be a doozy ..."

The angel smiled faintly. "You shouldn't, you know," he chided. "Evil isn't supposed to sleep ... and besides. I'd be terribly bored without you."

The dark man grinned, black and mischievous. "I'm sure you'll keep." Then, more seriously, shadowed eyes drifting back towards the Seine: "I could use the rest, angel. Just this once. I really, really could. So ... see you. In about eighty years or so ..."

He wandered away, and the angel watched him leave, only smiling faintly, and perhaps a little sadly. Watched a fallen angel drift softly towards unquiet rest, while beneath him, in the blackness of the Seine, a fallen man drifted towards his own the only way his justice had allowed. 

"See you then, my dear," the angel whispered, and hoped, despite himself, that if they only held on long enough, one day ... their justice could do better.


End file.
